Gallant Waif by Anne Gracie (best ereader manga .TXT) 📕

will be home by now, and as for Martha—” he grinned even wider ”—well, you know as well as I do that I can do no wrong in Martha’s eyes. She will probably egg me on.”

Kate gritted her teeth. Within minutes of stepping over the threshold of Jack Carstairs’s house, Martha had conceived the absurdest tendre for him. And he dared to make mention of it! Boast of it, even! Kate glared at him across a bowl of greenery that she’d placed there only that morning.

“I don’t need to scream,” she panted, “I can protect myself.” She picked up the bowl and flung it. It missed him, smashing on the wall behind, but the foliage and water hit their target most satisfactorily. Kate grinned triumphantly.

Jack plucked greenery from his hair and dashed the water from his face. “Ha! Missed, little vixen! So much for cricket.”

“That was deliberate,” she said airily, “but I promise you, I won’t miss next time.”

He leaned over the table. “You certainly enjoy throwing things, don’t you? I suppose I ought to be grateful that there is not a pot of boiling oil to hand, or no doubt you would fling that at me, wouldn’t you?”

“Probably.”

“Well, just for that, I’m going to give you the biggest beating you’ve ever had in your life.”

There was amusement in his eyes, despite his anger. Kate resolved to remove it—she was certainly not going to let this deteriorate into a game.

“Well, at least now you’ve got an ambition in life! And about time too.”

Jack stiffened. “And just what do you mean by that?”

Kate’s chin lifted defiantly. She hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt—it had just slipped out—but she couldn’t back down and ruin the effect she had worked so hard to achieve.

“I said, at least you have an ambition in life now,” she enunciated, quailing inwardly as she did so. “I mean, of course, apart from that of drinking yourself to death! Not that threatening to beat a woman is exactly an ambition to be proud of…”

Jack’s face whitened with rage and shock. “How dare you? I’ve never beaten a woman in my life!” he grated. “Now, get out of my house now—before I break your neck and throw you down the stairs,” he added, sublimely unaware of his inconsistency. His long fingers dug into the back of the Queen Anne chair between them. Kate could hear the fine old brocade shredding under the pressure.

Kate was shaking, her pulse was pounding with excitement, unsure whether she was thrilled or terrified. It looked as if he really did want to kill her, now. But something deep inside her told her that, no matter how he was behaving and what he threatened, he would not actually harm her. Not really.

“Oh, yes, that would suit you very well, wouldn’t it?” she taunted, dancing from behind one piece of furniture to the next. “Get rid of me and there would be no one to prod you out of your shell again. Well, if you want me out of here, you will have to throw me out, Mr Carstairs, for I will not leave here unless of my own free will and I do not choose to go just yet.”

He made a lunge for her and as Kate skipped out of his way her foot caught on a loose rug. Without hesitation his arm shot out, preventing her from falling.

“I have you now, little vixen,” he growled, drawing her closer. Kate struggled against the unbreakable grip and he stared down at her, his eyes blazing. Effortlessly he pressed her back against a nearby table, imprisoning her legs with one muscular thigh and enclosing her narrow wrists in one large hand. Ignoring her struggles, he pulled her hard against him, chest to chest, breathing heavily, causing a light, tantalising friction. Silence fell, except for the sounds of their breathing and the crackling fire.

“I really ought to beat you, you know,” he murmured at last, his eyes darkening.

Kate knew she was in no such danger. His hold on her might be unbreakable, but it was also quite gentle. Almost possessive. It was another kind of danger altogether she was in. She gazed up at him for a long moment, her eyes clinging to his, then dropping to his mouth. She should not encourage this, should not allow it. She might want it with all her heart, but it was not proper to want it. “Please…” she gasped, and wriggled, meaning him to release her.

He looked down at her enigmatically and groaned. “If you must look at me like that with those eyes…” he muttered, and lowered his mouth to hers.

It was no gentle embrace and Kate had never experienced anything like it. She struggled half-heartedly against the invasion of her self-possession, but his lips, at first hard and demanding, softened and were tenderly teasing and coaxing hers until, without conscious volition, she responded to their demands and her lips parted.

Fire shot through her with such force that she let out a small whimper. His grip instantly gentled and he lifted his face and stared into hers. Kate was helpless—his muscular arms were all that kept her from sliding to the floor, her head was thrown back and her damp lips remained parted.

“What did you mean about my eyes?” she finally said.

“Only that every time I look into them I want to do this—”

He lowered his mouth to hers again in a long, passionate kiss.

Kate’s senses were reeling but, more, she could not believe what he had said—her eyes made him want to kiss her? Her eyes?

He lifted his head back and smiled into her dazed face. She knew she should do something, say something, but she could not. Her eyes clung to his and he seemed to see the silent message in them for he murmured, “See—you’re doing it again,” and lowered his mouth, with agonising tenderness, to hers.

Without warning, he brushed his fingers across her breasts. Kate gasped and arched her back in response. Her nipples